Ain't Dyin' Today
by sicklittlepervert
Summary: Carol and Daryl are on a run. Things steadily go from bad to worse to absolutely wonderful. My take on Caryl.


Ain't Dyin' Today

A/N: So, I know I should be working on my Betelgeuse fic, and I am…but this little plot bunny grabbed me and wouldn't let me go. This is my first Walking Dead fic, and I am a huge Caryl shipper. This is my take on how their "relationship" might begin. I tried to stay true to Norman's feelings about how it would go down. Let me know what you think.

I own nothing of the Walking Dead and make not profit from this fic.

It started out as a simple run. They had just gotten everything loaded onto the truck, and headed around the other side of the warehouse to check for more supplies. Daryl led the way, crossbow aimed and ready. They rounded the corner, and he took out a single walker. Carol made the mistake of thinking that it might be easy. When they rounded the next corner, she damned her optimism. There in the small passage way in front of them was a horde of walkers.

"Shit," Daryl whispered.

They turned back, trying to avoid being spotted. They made it all the way to the end of the passage when another group of walkers appeared in front of them. Carol drew in a sharp breath as one of the stumbling dead knocked over a pallet that had been leaning against the wall. The noise immediately attracted the horde behind them. Carol went numb when she saw how many there were. It was two against an army. She couldn't breathe. All she could do was stare dumbly at their predicament.

"Shit," Daryl said again.

Carol held her breath. Daryl searched frantically for an escape route. The only thing he could find was a window a few feet above their heads.

"Think you can get up there?" he asked.

She didn't respond. She just kept staring at the two groups of advancing walkers. She was too scared to move.

"We ain't dyin' today, woman. So get ya shit together and let's move!"

Daryl's words rang in her ears. Was he still here? Was she? She shook her head to clear it and found herself staring into deep blue eyes that held a little fear and a whole lot of pissed off. She heard his voice again, but this time she was focused.

"Now, Carol, we gotta go!" he yelled.

Finally, she looked back at him and nodded. Luckily, there was a dumpster just to her right. He made a cradle with his hands. She braced herself on his shoulders and he hoisted her up onto the dumpster. She glanced down at him.

"I'm right behind ya," he said, reassuringly.

She steeled herself against her panic and began to feel for cracks in the wall. If she could get a foothold, she could get to the window. She heard Daryl grunt and he pulled himself up next to her. Once again, Daryl made a cradle to hoist her up the rest of the way. She grabbed the window sill and pulled herself into the frame. When she threw her leg over the sill, she stopped. There was a thirty foot vertical drop directly underneath her. She leaned back out of the window.

"There's nothing to break our fall," she said.

Daryl sighed heavily.

"How far?" he asked.

"Bout thirty feet," she replied.

She glanced down at the approaching walkers.

"I'm gonna jump," she told him.

"Be careful," he said, almost sternly.

"Nine lives, remember," she replied.

She took a deep breath and jumped. Unfortunately, the jagged window frame caught her pant leg and she tumbled rather unceremoniously to the unforgiving ground below. It knocked the wind out of her and she struggled to catch her breath. When she regained the ability to breathe, she tried to stand. The pain was instantaneous and she buckled under the weight of it. She looked up to see Daryl sitting in the window.

"Are you hurt?" he yelled down to her.

"No," she lied, trying to keep the pain off of her face.

Daryl nodded and jumped off the sill. He made it look easy. He had the wherewithal to push himself away from the window, so he wasn't caught on it. Still, a drop from that height was no picnic, and she heard him grunt at the impact. She tried again to stand, hoping he wouldn't notice that she had lied to him. They had to get out of here, and she wouldn't be the reason that those supplies didn't make it back to the prison. Daryl had caught his breath by then and was beginning to stand. He felt the twinge in his knee as he did. He hissed slightly at the pain. He didn't have time to worry about that right now.

"Are you hurt?" Carol asked him.

"Nah," he lied, "just gettin too old for that Batman shit."

Carol laughed. She knew exactly how he felt.

"We gotta get to the truck," he said, "that ankle gonna make it?"

She shot him a confused look. How did he know?

"I've seen pain in them pretty blue eyes before," he practically whispered.

Carol smiled, a brief flash of sadness crossing her face.

"I guess you have," she said.

He limped toward her, trying in vain to make it look like he wasn't.

"That knee gonna make it?" she asked, in a slightly accusatory tone.

"I'm fine, woman." he said.

"Uh huh," she replied.

He was about to say something about that smart ass attitude she had recently developed, when he heard the familiar sound of snarling just ahead of them. Carol gasped, turning toward the sound.

"Dammit," Daryl said through clenched teeth.

"They're everywhere," Carol said, "What are we going to do?"

Daryl looked around. It was almost pitch black inside the grimy warehouse. He couldn't see how many there were, but with them both injured, one was too many. The meager light from the window allowed him to catch a glimpse of a workbench just to their left.

"C'mon," he said, grabbing her hand.

He hoped that there wasn't a horde inside like there had been in the alley. He limped toward the workbench, pulling Carol behind him. He could hear her hiss in pain with ever step.

"Sorry," he mumbled, as he slid underneath the bench.

She followed him into the cramped space and had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming as she twisted her injured ankle underneath her.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah," she said, knowing full well that he always knew when she was lying.

Daryl slowly pulled an old pallet in front of their hiding place. Carol closed her eyes and listened, trying to determine how many walkers were in the warehouse. Daryl was listening as well. It didn't take long to figure out that there were about ten or so. They could probably handle that many hand to hand, but injured, it wasn't going to be easy. They stayed perfectly still, hoping that the commotion outside would attract the walkers' attention. Carol was acutely aware of how close Daryl was to her. She shook her head. She had to focus. They both stayed as quiet as possible, but Carol knew that they had already been spotted, and that the walkers wouldn't stop coming for them.

Suddenly, as if to confirm what she was thinking, a hand reached blindly through the slats. Carol barely stifled a shriek. Daryl fumbled for his knife, yanking it free and plunging it into the hand. He shifted his weight, throwing the pallet and the walker behind it to the ground. He pulled his knife free and plunged it into the walker's skull.

"Come on," he yelled, grabbing her hand.

She slid out from under the workbench. The rest of the walkers had been drawn to the sounds of the struggle, and were making their way toward them. Both limping, they slashed and stabbed their way through the horde. Carol breathed a sigh of relief as the last walker fell. Both she and Daryl were winded from the fight.

"There are more now," she said.

"Yeah," Daryl replied, "too many." Carol nodded.

"Let's get out of here," she said wearily.

They both limped cautiously toward the door. Carol hoped that they were close to the truck. When they got to the door, Daryl slowly pulled it open. He scanned the area for walkers. Fortunately, there were only three between them and the truck.

"Three to the left," he whispered.

He grabbed her hand and started out the door. Suddenly, she stopped.

"Daryl…" she said, softly.

He turned to face her and was caught off guard by her lips pressing against his. He made a slight whimpering noise. She knew that he was uncomfortable with affection, so she pulled away. She stepped back to look at him. He looked terrified, and Carol stifled a small giggle. He looked more scared in that moment than he had facing all those walkers.

"I just…." she began.

Daryl shook his head.

"I told ya we ain't dyin' today." he said softly.

Carol smiled slightly. He was right. They hadn't died. As a matter of fact, as he held her hand and led her toward the truck, Carol had never felt more alive.

END


End file.
